eserve on your part,"
observed the other, casting down her eyes, and heroically repressing the
grief she felt; "I thank you."

"But for the very reason, that I made it a duty never to speak to you
of such love affairs, I said to myself, if ever it should happen that I
have a serious passion--such a love as makes one think of marriage--oh!
then, just as we tell our sister even before our father and mother, my
good sister shall be the first to be informed of it."

"You are very kind, Agricola."

"Well then! the serious passion has come at last. I am over head and
ears in love, and I think of marriage."

At these words of Agricola, poor Mother Bunch felt herself for an
instant paralyzed. It seemed as if all her blood was suddenly frozen in
her veins. For some seconds, she thought she was going to die. Her heart
ceased to beat; she felt it, not breaking, but melting away to nothing.
Then, the first blasting emotion over, like those martyrs who found, in
the very excitement of pain, the terrible power to smile in the midst
of tortures, the unfortunate girl found, in the fear of betraying the
secret of her fatal and ridiculous love, almost incredible energy. She
raised her head, looked at the smith calmly, almost serenely, and said
to him in a firm voice: "Ah! so, you truly love?"

"That is to say, my good sister, that, for the last four days, I
scarcely live at all--or live only upon this passion."

"It is only since four days that you have been in love?"

"Not more--but time has nothing to do with it."

"And is she very pretty?"

"Dark hair--the figure of a nymph--fair as a lily--blue eyes, as large
as that--and as mild, as good as your own."

"You flatter me, Agricola."

"No, no, it is Angela that I flatter--for that's her name. What a pretty
one! Is it not, my good Mother Bunch?"

"A charming name," said the poor girl, contrasting bitterly that
graceful appellation with her own nickname, which the thoughtless
Agricola applied to her without thinking of it. Then she resumed, with
fearful calmness: "Angela? yes, it is a charming name!"

"Well, then! imagine to yourself, that this name is not only suited to
her face, but to her heart. In a word, I believe her heart to be almost
equal to yours."

"She has my eyes--she has my heart," said Mother Bunch, smiling. "It is
singular, how like we are."

Agricola did not perceive the irony of despair contained in these words.
He resumed, with a tenderness as sincere